


Contact

by theirhappystory



Series: Quick Hands and Cold Blood [1]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Bratva Oliver Queen, F/M, Hacker Felicity Smoak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-28 15:54:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19397407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theirhappystory/pseuds/theirhappystory





	Contact

**Oliver**

_ “Prove to me that you can handle an assignment of this magnitude, and we will discuss your status within the brotherhood, Boevick Queen.” _

That’s what Oliver keeps in mind as he enters the seedy underground club in downtown Cambridge, Massachusetts, some three-thousand miles away from where he wants to be. But this is a test, one he cannot, _will_ _not_ fail.

His assignment, although heavy in importance, was not supposed to give him this much trouble. They had located the Tambovskaya Gang’s port on the East Coast, a long time rival of the Solntsevskaya Bratva. It was Oliver’s job to intercept their latest shipment. The only problem was when he and his men had showed up, the Tambov were ready and waiting for them. Three brothers had been lost as a result of the confrontation and the remainder of his brigade was forced to retreat without the shipment. Pissed the fuck off is an understatement for what Oliver felt that night, and the following nights since. 

That was five days ago. Since then, he has been scouring every Bratva resource possible to find someone who can hack Tambov’s system to determine the arrival of the next shipment. The problem is, someone on the inside had disclosed their plans to their rivals, leaving Oliver unsure of who he can and cannot trust. If he wants to prove himself ready to become a Captain despite his American upbringing and young age of twenty-seven, he’s going to have to do this himself.

With a resigned sigh, he strides down the dark, blacklight-adorned hallway and descends the stairs into a cloud of smoke. The theatrics of it all brings a smirk to his otherwise emotionless face. 

_ Hackers _ .

M.I.T. is known for its host of computer hackers in the world of organized crime. All these college kids looking to make a quick buck, most of them too lost in their 1’s and 0’s to realize when to step away from a deal. They think they’re infallible, the best of the best, until the cops come knocking at their door. That is if they’re one of the lucky ones to get the police and not the brotherhood. The Bratva does not believe in loose ends.

Surveying the club, Oliver takes in the contrasting colors of black and neon throughout the room. Sweaty co-eds are gyrating on the dance floor to some kind of electronic dance music that floods the room. By the bar a girl with bright pink hair squeals as a scrawny guy with stringy black hair licks alcohol off her body. But that’s not what holds his attention. Instead, Oliver zeroes in on the row of booths in the far back, containing a number of kids typing away on various technological interfaces.

He scans each booth, evaluating its occupants. There are some with a handful of people that he immediately rules out. A couple making out in between bouts of typing and laughter. Some kid so stoned he looks like he’s about to slide under the table. Two guys in what appears to be some sort of coding face off. And in the very back corner a girl with ink black hair sips a glass of wine, the glow from her computer screen illuminating her soft features.

That’s the one. That’s his girl.

Just to be sure, Oliver observes her for a few minutes more. Every once in awhile someone will come up to her with their tablet or computer and she quickly devotes her attention to whatever they are saying. She works quickly and diligently each time, typing away on her visitor’s device before sending them away with a smile. But no one stays just to chat.

After the fourth or so person, Oliver decides it’s time to move in. He approaches her booth in a relaxed manner, flirtatious smile slipping into place. He knows the affect his good looks and perfected body have on women, and he is not above using it for his gain. However, as he gets closer to the girl’s table her brow furrows in concentration, whatever is on her screen keeps her from noticing his approach.

Oliver comes to a stop not a foot from where she sits, tilting his head to the side as he waits for her to detect his presence. He takes this time to study her up close. There are deep violet streaks in her hair that were undetectable from far away, matching the color painted on her full lips. Her eyes are a startling grey blue, contrasting with the dark colors she’s chosen to outfit herself in. They reflect the light of the computer screen in a way that makes them appear to be almost glowing. She’s pretty, he realized with a start. Not that hackers can’t be physically attractive, it’s just a far cry from his usual type.

Moving away from that line of thought, Oliver clears his throat to get the girl’s attention. She jumps in her seat and looks up at him with wide eyes, surprise evident in her gaze. He expects her to say something, apologize for not noticing him or anything really, but she remains silent so he starts off with a simple greeting.

“Hi.”

“Are you lost?”

That was definitely not the response Oliver was expecting. It must show on his face because the girl ducks her head as she continues on.

“I’m sorry that was rude. I just meant that you are far too pretty to be here. Not that the people here aren’t attractive or that we have some kind of requirement for physical appearance! We just don’t see a lot of people like you around here. I’m going to stop talking. Right now.”

She reaches for her glass, taking a long sip of wine, eyes closed as it flows down her throat. When she meets his gaze again, she is decidedly less flustered. That must be something she does a lot.

“What can I do for ya?”

“I’m searching for someone who can…  _ look into _ a highly protected mainframe for details on a scheduled delivery.”

“Did UPS lose your package or something?”

He lifts an eyebrow in amusement, pleasantly surprised by her wit.

“Or something. May I?”

Oliver gestures to the space across from her in the booth to which the girl nods in consent. He lowers himself into the booth and leans back in the cushioned seat, the picture of ease. 

“So this mainframe, how protected are we talking here?”

“Uhm… very?”

Now it’s her turn to raise an eyebrow at him.

“Very?”

“Yes.”

“Right. Okay.”

She clicks around on her laptop a few times, then begins to type something in, mouthing the word “very” with an exaggerated widening of her eyes. Without looking up, she continues with her questioning.

“Does this mainframe have a name?”

“No.”

“No, it doesn’t have a name? Or No, you don’t want to disclose that information? Because unless you have an IP address, there’s no way I’m going to be able to hack it. And good luck finding someone here who will.”

Digging into his pocket, Oliver pulls out a folded up slip of paper and slides it to her across the table. She takes it, glances at the string of numbers and letters written down, and nods her head as she returns to typing on her computer.

“Fair warning, this sort of thing doesn’t come cheap.”

“Money isn’t an issue, I can assure you of that. Can you do it?"

The raven haired girl scoffs at him, seemingly offended by his question.

"You must be new around here. Yes, I can do it. I have a paper due Thursday for my Advanced Cybersecurity class so give me until Friday?"

Right. She's still in school.

"Okay."

Digging through a large grey backpack beside her, the girl pulls out a surprisingly bright yellow sheet of paper and a red pen. She scribbles furiously on the scrap of paper before offering it to him across the table. Oliver accepts the note, briefly glancing at what she wrote.

_ Bean Scene. 4pm. F _

“Meet me there on Friday. I’ll have the information ready for you on both a USB drive and in a paper copy. Bring cash. A lot of it.”

“What does the F stand for?”

Oliver realizes then as he asks the question that he never even got this girl’s name, and she didn’t ask for his either. That would be fine with him under any other circumstances, the less personal information exchanged the better. However, he can’t help the curiosity inside him that itches to put a name to the face.

“Felicity.”

_ Felicity _ . 

It suits her. He can’t exactly put a finger on why, but it does.

“Well, Felicity, I look forward to doing business with you.”

He extends a hand to her, one that she takes without hesitation. His large, calloused hand encompasses her much smaller one as they shake, and Oliver is struck by how petite she is. Her presence is so large it wasn’t until just now that he noticed.

“And I with you Mister…”

“Oliver. Just Oliver.”

Usually he gives a fake name for outside transactions, a precaution that has saved other members of the Bratva from a world of trouble. But he doesn’t feel the need to do so with Felicity.

“Okay, ‘Just Oliver’. See you Friday.”

She smiles at him as he withdraws his hand from hers and slides out of the booth. It’s a soft, genuine expression that Oliver finds himself mirroring back at her before he turns to leave. Now that he has accomplished what he came here to do, it’s time to disappear back into the night. 

But not without taking one last glance over his shoulder.


End file.
